Post by joekiddlouischama on Apr 23, 2024 9:07:44 GMT
An independent film based on a true story, The Long Game tells the tale of of how some teenaged golfers—with the right coaching and mentorship—overcame racial discrimination to win the Texas state title in 1957. The movie suffers from some typical clichés associated with this genre—the athletic ace who is also a stubborn hothead, the athletic runt who manages to improve substantially just in time, the one white ally (Dennis Quaid) that the protagonist (Jay Hernandez) can lean on. But it is also a story of agency and ingenuity: for instance, before being mentored by the characters played by Hernandez and Quaid, the kids—denied, like the Hernandez figure, from playing at a premier country club—create their own course. And then the two male leads, taking their cue from these kids, form the first-ever golf team at the Mexican-American high school in El Paso where the Hernandez character teaches.
More significant, perhaps, is how the movie modestly explores some of the intricacies and complexities that derive from being racially discriminated against in a society essentially defined by white supremacy. For instance, the father of the best golfer, Joe (Julian Works), tries to abort his son's golfing for fear that the boy will merely be ridiculed for standing out and failing to conform to white expectations of Hispanics. And the Hernandez character emphasizes conformity and restraint—including no speaking of Spanish on the course—in order to best fit in and take advantage of any opportunity that might otherwise be denied by the powers in place. Indeed, one could draw an analogy to how Brooklyn Dodgers executive Branch Rickey famously convinced Jackie Robinson that he could not strike back against all the racial animus, abuse, and hostility that he would face on the baseball field from fans and opponents. (Only in 1949, after Robinson had completed one season in the minor leagues and his first two years in the majors with the Dodgers, did Rickey allow the naturally combative Robinson to unleash his true personality and stand up for himself.) Another intriguing example of the psychological and cultural complexity that derives from facing bigotry can be found when Joe responds contemptuously upon learning how his girlfriend meritoriously gained acceptance to a prestigious writing program at the University of Texas-Austin. She did so by penning an essay about her relationship with her abuela—her grandmother—and Joe feels that such an essay will merely invite ridicule and condescension from the white folk in Austin. His insensitivity and abrasiveness stuns his girlfriend, who obviously treasures her bond with her abuela.
Conveniently, of course, Joe and his girlfriend have reconciled by the end of the movie, albeit without a full-fledged reconciliation scene. The suggestion without such a full-fledged scene is either a weakness (a sign of glibness, laziness, and mere convention) or a strength (avoiding needless sentimentality), depending upon one's perspective. That is kind of The Long Game in a microcosm: a movie that is less simplistic than it could have been, but also not as potent as it could have been. Likewise, the visual style is a bit heavy-handed, with a lot of very noticeable camera movement (including constant tracking shots on the golf course) and an emphasis on montage, but the film's technical manner complements its tone effectively enough.
Perhaps most problematic is that in addition to filming part of The Long Game in Texas, the filmmakers shot quite a bit of it in Colombia. A tropical nation, of course, features a very different type of landscape from that of arid southwestern Texas. The movie begins with a brief dream montage that indeed suggests some kind of hilly rainforest, creating a non-sequitur and making me imagine that perhaps the Hernandez figure was dreaming of the Masters, which is located in Georgia. (In retrospect, he was just dreaming of the local country club where he desperately desires membership.) The film's golf courses and greens often seem a tad lush, and in one brief scene, we witness tropical ferns alongside a local dwelling. Although I have never been to El Paso, the presence of a fern—and the overall lushness of the movie's greens—struck me as curious. Only when viewing the closing credits and seeing the "Colombia Unit" (which precedes the "Texas Unit" in the credits) did matters make "sense." Obviously, the movie's low budget necessitated the decision to shoot much of The Long Game in Colombia, with its cheap labor costs. Although the PGA (Professional Golf Association) backed the movie, it lacks any kind of notable distributor, and inauthentic Colombian locations hardly imperil the film. Still, they make The Long Game less convincing than it could have been.
But the movie is rather engrossing and not without some nuance—"decent/pretty good," meaning slightly above-average.
More significant, perhaps, is how the movie modestly explores some of the intricacies and complexities that derive from being racially discriminated against in a society essentially defined by white supremacy. For instance, the father of the best golfer, Joe (Julian Works), tries to abort his son's golfing for fear that the boy will merely be ridiculed for standing out and failing to conform to white expectations of Hispanics. And the Hernandez character emphasizes conformity and restraint—including no speaking of Spanish on the course—in order to best fit in and take advantage of any opportunity that might otherwise be denied by the powers in place. Indeed, one could draw an analogy to how Brooklyn Dodgers executive Branch Rickey famously convinced Jackie Robinson that he could not strike back against all the racial animus, abuse, and hostility that he would face on the baseball field from fans and opponents. (Only in 1949, after Robinson had completed one season in the minor leagues and his first two years in the majors with the Dodgers, did Rickey allow the naturally combative Robinson to unleash his true personality and stand up for himself.) Another intriguing example of the psychological and cultural complexity that derives from facing bigotry can be found when Joe responds contemptuously upon learning how his girlfriend meritoriously gained acceptance to a prestigious writing program at the University of Texas-Austin. She did so by penning an essay about her relationship with her abuela—her grandmother—and Joe feels that such an essay will merely invite ridicule and condescension from the white folk in Austin. His insensitivity and abrasiveness stuns his girlfriend, who obviously treasures her bond with her abuela.
Conveniently, of course, Joe and his girlfriend have reconciled by the end of the movie, albeit without a full-fledged reconciliation scene. The suggestion without such a full-fledged scene is either a weakness (a sign of glibness, laziness, and mere convention) or a strength (avoiding needless sentimentality), depending upon one's perspective. That is kind of The Long Game in a microcosm: a movie that is less simplistic than it could have been, but also not as potent as it could have been. Likewise, the visual style is a bit heavy-handed, with a lot of very noticeable camera movement (including constant tracking shots on the golf course) and an emphasis on montage, but the film's technical manner complements its tone effectively enough.
Perhaps most problematic is that in addition to filming part of The Long Game in Texas, the filmmakers shot quite a bit of it in Colombia. A tropical nation, of course, features a very different type of landscape from that of arid southwestern Texas. The movie begins with a brief dream montage that indeed suggests some kind of hilly rainforest, creating a non-sequitur and making me imagine that perhaps the Hernandez figure was dreaming of the Masters, which is located in Georgia. (In retrospect, he was just dreaming of the local country club where he desperately desires membership.) The film's golf courses and greens often seem a tad lush, and in one brief scene, we witness tropical ferns alongside a local dwelling. Although I have never been to El Paso, the presence of a fern—and the overall lushness of the movie's greens—struck me as curious. Only when viewing the closing credits and seeing the "Colombia Unit" (which precedes the "Texas Unit" in the credits) did matters make "sense." Obviously, the movie's low budget necessitated the decision to shoot much of The Long Game in Colombia, with its cheap labor costs. Although the PGA (Professional Golf Association) backed the movie, it lacks any kind of notable distributor, and inauthentic Colombian locations hardly imperil the film. Still, they make The Long Game less convincing than it could have been.
But the movie is rather engrossing and not without some nuance—"decent/pretty good," meaning slightly above-average.